


Putting the Chimera to Sleep

by Claus_Lucas



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, i don't really want to think of how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claus_Lucas/pseuds/Claus_Lucas
Summary: Lucas is tired of the army creating chimeras that don't want to exist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the masked man should come kill me, too

The walls of the village were obscured by hordes of announcements. Words in thick ink were printed on sheets of white, rectangular paper. They covered buildings, signs, fences, bulletin boards erected specifically for this purpose. They were glued, nailed, hung in any way possible. The army issued most statements in the standard black text, though occasionally one would appear with red, underlined the number of times equivalent to its level of urgency. The people that read the information they distributed knew what to expect from such posters. Rarely did they deliver good news, but it seemed good to them, because they were being told of the bad things happening in the world, which was better than finding out while wandering in the dark.

The army referred to these events as “accidents”: misplaced equipment, an unnoticed leak in some chemical tanks, power failures, animals on a rampage, natural disasters. There was an endless list of explanations for the recent tragedies, none of which ever criminalized the army. In fact, they were often implicitly promoting the army’s popularity by making it seem like they were concerned for the people’s safety and what was happening outside of their secluded village space. They were also “constantly on the lookout for new and better solutions to everyday problems  big and small,” as advertised in many of their flyers.

The village had accepted the presence of the army with ease, even fondness. To them they were “an organization” rather than a military group, despite having set up several training camps within their territory. Most folk swallowed the army’s claims without demanding any sort of verification of its authenticity. It was common knowledge that the survivors of those “accidents” always applied for enrollment into the army before anyone had a chance to ask them what happened. It made them seem like they were really looking out for these people.

It was the lowest ranking members, the recently recruited, that were in charge of spreading the posters as soon as they were printed. It was up to them how they managed to get the twenty or so sheets that each was given daily onto a flat surface (sometimes they resorted to scattering them on the ground, telling their boss it was there for when someone bent down to pick up a coin or tie their shoelace, then they’d see it). If the villagers asked for any additional details, the lackeys were instructed to shake their heads and say they knew nothing, which was true.

Though they were divided by a strict system of hierarchy, it was a fact that most of the individuals affiliated with the army shared the same pool of basic information. The higher circles were kept content by holding power over their underlings and being assigned to tougher, more demanding missions, blissfully unaware that their value in the organization was more or less the same as the newbies they pushed aside during lunch break. What they believed were “secrets” entrusted especially to them because of their important position were actually being repeated to every other member. The success of this scheme depended on making sure everyone kept their mouth shuts so no one found out they were being tricked, which usually wasn’t a problem. If, however, someone happened to slip up, brainwashing was in order to help those affected forget.

The only person that really understood how the army functioned (and _why_ it was functioning –to what end) was the King. He divulged little of the truth and that was only for the select few that required it to accomplish whatever they were doing to benefit the army. Those that got in on the big picture were usually scientists delving in relevant research or inventors designing the latest in vehicles, cannons, robots, pistols (weapons were a consistent priority). They had to know a bit more than the average Joe to better fulfill their roles, which they were also brainwashed into accepting. The King did not trust people so he was constantly rewriting their memories once they’d completed their tasks.

The scientists working with the chimera project got the King’s special attention. Some of them pursued it out of sheer scientific satisfaction while others cooperated reluctantly under the watchful gaze of their tyrant. None of them were told that whatever they created in their laboratories would probably be used to murder someone.

Genetic blending was a ridiculously tricky job, but mother nature couldn’t have filled a planet with such diverse living creatures if it hadn’t set evolution to randomize (courtesy of DNA mutation). The King wanted to decorate the islands with his own toy box of creatures so he let the scientists run wild with their ideas, grinning broadly when the results pleased him and suggesting alterations when they didn’t. What he had no interest in wasn’t wasted, however –nothing was wasted in the army. Not all the chimeras shared the same fate, but they would, whether it was to eradicate a group of animals living in the forest or cause a landslide in the mountains, find a purpose.

When a chimera outlived its utility (and, at the rate these things were being enhanced and remixed, was often) it was put to sleep. They used to be released into the wild, in a spot where they were unlikely to cause the army trouble, but some of them managed to return to their birthplace and settled there instead. Before the year was over, a crowd of chimeras, of all shapes and sizes, had assembled, too many to be ignored. Plans to build a factory where a large quantity of cattlesnake had migrated were delayed and the man on top finally decided to do something about it.

“Tragic fire starts from a match that wasn’t properly put out, singes the planes surrounding the new railway. Train station and tracks miraculously unharmed,” a piece of paper nailed to a house read. Nobody commented on how the herd of cattlesnake was a third of its original size after that.

Chimeras were also used as convenient excuses to keep the people from poking their heads where they weren’t wanted:

“Avalanche caused by rampaging reconstructed moles blocks the passage between the ropeway and the forest. No more excursions to the lake until it is removed.” (It was never removed.)

Others were relocated, moved to strategic places to further their ploy of keeping the villagers in their vicious niche:

“Danger! Large muttshroom sighted prowling the tunnels. Traveling by foot is discouraged. Ride the train instead.”

“Steer clear of the Sunshine Forest. It’s no longer sunny with all those flying mice roaming it.”

The people of Tazmily were naïve but they weren’t buying garbage, either: the army sold persuasive statements. Again, they were just grateful that the army was trying to protect them, warning them of so many dangers they hadn’t even realized existed before they arrived.

Behind the paper-thin curtain (literally), the organization had strived to maintain that status of obliviousness so that they could continue their conquest of the land that was once regarded as belonging to none but itself. The earth that had always been green where the villagers lived shriveled into a brown paste and the army called it “dead”, “a waste of space”, “ugly”, “should be replaced by something useful.” The villagers did not suspect the concrete building that stood sturdy on the broken bones of their planet; they did not suspect the people in charge of filling every “empty space” with more of their innovations. Instead they decided that this must be the normal order of things; that it was logical to build over what was no longer perceived as beneficial.

The amount of posters deployed in the village increased significantly during the latter half of their second year living alongside the foreigners. The army was still dealing with eliminating large quantities of chimeras at a time (production was increasing at a threatening velocity), as well as shaping the territories that the people of Tazmily did not dare venture into anymore (they feared those places as if they’d been there themselves and seen the deadly creatures advertised by the army). They discovered that herding chimeras into groups and erasing them together was far more beneficial than putting them all down individually. They were sending lightning into the woods and flooding canyons just to kill off a few hundred animals in one fell swoop. Whatever died with them was of no concern.

The “accidents” became more sophisticated as well. Nobody was thinking about how to reach their objective without making a huge mess in the process so they had to come up with ever newer explanations for the things happening beyond the village borders. It was sheer fortune that placed a tool in their hands capable of not only of destroying things but doing it in a remarkably wide range of ways. Different scientists would defend different postures, but it was a near collective belief –only the extremely proud and extremely jealous would tell you otherwise– that the most advanced, efficient, and, considering what had to be done to create it, difficult chimera the labs ever produced was a cyborg constructed from the mutilated remains of a human child.

Officially, it was not given a name, but it was often referred to as “Commander” in honor of its position in the army. The King told his chosen few that this chimera had been designed specifically for this role: he was a perfectly trained soldier.

Now Commander was in charge of most missions that involved extermination. It could fire the cannon built into its arm faster than any human recruit could aim a pistol –and clear a field of living organisms without wasting a single shot. It was self-regulating and capable of formulating its own strategies, improving any method that it was introduced to so the actions it took made the plan far more efficient than what others could come up with. The title “Commander” was about as decorative as its helmet or the pig-themed outfits most soldiers wore, but it was equipped with the qualities necessary to assume charge of any situation. Commander could even ensure that its underlings, which possessed a far cry from its skill level, were pushed to do as they were supposed to with the minimal amount of screwing up possible. At least while it was watching them.

Commander claimed respect from its fellow army members by impersonating every trait that they believed should be present in someone of its status. They were all either in awe or in terror of it (or a mixture of both), but the result was that they drew inspiration from that sentiment to pull through their own duties. The pigmasks never forgot for what Commander had been chosen: power. They did not see it as a chimera: they saw it as a human being; and yet they would find more than enough reasons to call it monster.

The villagers saw little of Commander and knew even less, though the army made sure to tell them that, while it could be trusted (it was “one of the good guys”), were they ever to encounter it, they should not approach it. Commander did occasionally appear near Tazmily (never within the actual village) and the people must’ve kept the words of their patrons in mind when they saw it because there were no instances of someone attempting to engage it.

Around the time that the army obtained the human specimen that would become Commander, the chimera lab was working on another projects of similar scale. The King wanted a creature that could serve as a powerhouse, something capable of crushing any enemy imaginable (even though there were no enemies, and he didn’t actually seem concerned with being attacked in the foreseeable future). The request seemed to be more or less “just make the strongest, scariest-looking thing you can”.

And make it they tried. Despite the fact that they were _all_ outmatched by Commander’s abilities once it appeared, the scientists involved did produce a series of highly deadly animals to encapsulate the King’s expectations (the last of which was the Ultimate Chimera, a formidable force of its own). They varied in colors and design but shared a common characteristic: they were all ridiculously large.

Big creatures could be weak or strong but they all tend to pose a challenge when it comes to controlling them. The original dragos were conquered but they were a peaceful, trusting species with no experience in actual combat. The reconstructed drago mother, now possessing a violent temperament, was the first test subject to be lost despite the efforts to restrain it. Chimeras that were conditioned to kill were at completely different level from animals untouched by humans.

But considering the consequences of fiddling with nature was not how the army operated. Solutions were made once the crisis was already upon them. The situation with the new chimeras was no exception.

When it became apparent that they would pose a problem, someone suggested that perhaps the animals could be steered into an isolated area and then left to their own agenda. The plans to transport them went badly, however, and they never ended up far from where they’d been created.

Warnings had to be posted.

“Entering the plateau is forbidden. Wild mecha gorilla living there.”

The villagers had never heard of a mecha gorilla but the name was irrelevant. The announcement warned them of it. It forbid them from entering (for their own safety). So (for their own safety) they did not enter.

Then a better solution was proposed: let Commander deal with them. It had not yet earned the fame of having subdued the Ultimate Chimera (with one arm, no less, since the other was torn off), but no one really doubted that it could handle the rampaging chimeras. Originally, this idea involved trying to get Commander to domesticate them rather than destroy them, so they could be considered a part of the army’s arsenal again. But the King, having imagined a battle between those monsters and his favorite servant, could not pass the chance to pit them against each other.

Naturally, Commander fulfilled its master’s expectations. Those were fights he witnessed personally. He wasn’t disappointed by one of them.

From the scraps left at the end of each confrontation, the scientists went on to create new, improved versions of Commander’s opponents. Reassured by the sheer strength that it possessed, they no longer had reason to fear the beasts they designed. There was no limit to what they could make.

There was a special power that Commander had inherited from the human it once was. A skill that could be imitated –the Thunder Tower stood as an example– but not recreated in a living organism (or pseudo living, since Commander was considered an animated corpse). Studies were conducted on how it worked but the findings were scarce. All they knew for certain was that the brain Commander had kept –the human tissue in its robotic skull– was the source of the phenomenon. Somehow it had continued administrating the ability even though its original host had died.

The power actually split into two –what the scientists referred to as “psychic”– but most army members only saw one: the web of glowing lightning that it could spin with the tip of its middle and index finger when they were held up to its forehead. Once the net had materialized Commander could wave its hand to strike a target, or mix it into a whirlwind of electrifying threads. A person can survive conducting lightning for a few seconds but their body will take damage if its presence is prolonged. Commander could keep bolts flowing for hours, though it was hardly necessary since its attacks were several times stronger than those of a natural thunderstorm.

Its second telekinetic skill was not used on a regular basis. In fact, it was so rare that only the King and his magypsy informant knew of it for a long time. It was maintained a secret because of its connection to the King’s true agenda, the actual goal that he strived to accomplish with all this tinkering and tampering on the island. As he was told of the legend regarding the seven golden needles scattered across the land, he began searching for a wielder of the special power needed to remove them from the Dark Dragon. It was a great surprise (and an absolute delight) to find that it was amongst Commander’s inherited abilities.

The precise element of the power was unclear, and its effect a mystery since no creature had been known to survive coming in contact with it. It could be distinguished from the usual flash of electricity by its combination of pink and cyan light, which froze in midair for a moment as if it were undergoing crystallization, then pierced through its target. It was clearly an attack of tremendous energy.

The army was eager to dispose of their unwanted experiments but they kept an attentive eye on them while they continued to be deemed useful. An unscheduled drop in the population of a certain chimera species, for example, would not go unnoticed for long. Incidents like those were investigated. The explanation was usually some variation of “another type of chimera was eating too many of them.” Then arrangements were made depending on which species was considered more precious. Once, however, there was an incident to which a conclusion could not be drawn without enlisting Commander’s specialized assistance.

The record was as follows: chimeras assigned to guard the laboratory closest to Murasaki Forest were vanishing from their posts and couldn’t be located elsewhere. Bodies weren’t turning up so the popular theory was that something was eating them. Still there were no chimeras that could fit that description and not leave some sort of evidence that they’d been there. Soldiers were dispatched to patrol the road between the lab and the ropeway leading to Club Titiboo, as well as around the lakes and hot spring located to the west.

The first few days were quiet. No signs of the murder were found. The vigil was lifted and new chimeras –identical to the ones that had disappeared– replaced them. These were especially aggressive breeds, animals birthed to pursue a target from the moment they smelled them (visual contact was seldom necessary), always attacking with the intention of killing. They did not differentiate between humans and beasts, and they lunged at all people equally. The only exception was for the factory workers, whose uniform was the exact shade of color the chimeras had been conditioned to ignore, but even then their instincts weren’t swayed for long (all workers were encouraged multiple times during the day to be quick when approaching the ropeway).

From there followed some more uneventful days, but soon creatures were missing again. When every new chimera had disappeared without a trace, a decision was made to reinstall soldiers but in greater numbers. The plan was to have enough soldiers to ensure that there was at least one person looking in any given direction at all time. However, during the next nights, the soldiers themselves started vanishing. The unanticipated development sparked an atmosphere of unease. But then the lost soldiers were returned. With no memory of where they’d been or what they’d done during that time, they were found in what seemed to be random locations throughout their patrolling routes. The same was not happening with the chimeras.

The King was enraged, more by the frustration, and humiliation, of being eluded than because he was losing his valuable chimeras. He temporary closed the factory and Club Titiboo. The trains stopped transporting people through the tunnels.

“Entire area evacuated. Extremely dangerous animal identified. There have been casualties.”

And he gave an order to his soldiers and scientists: desert by sundown. Commander has been assigned to the area. It won’t tell ally from enemy.

“Won’t tell ally from enemy” meant that it had been told explicitly to neutralize anyone, anything –everything.

Commander had never failed a mission. The King, still believing in its infallibility, thought he had whoever had been messing with his animals in checkmate. “Make sure I always win, no matter the rules of the game,” he often said to Commander.

Of course, it seemed like nothing could stop him because the only enemies he’d ever known had come from the inside, results of his own attempts to force the hand of evolution to a toddler’s whim. An outsider had never stood on the spotlight to properly oppose him. The King expected some kind of resistance to form eventually, but Commander was his secret weapon, his trump card. The weak people of the island couldn’t possibly reach up to its level –but hadn’t the power Commander inherited come from someone on this island?

Commander stepped on factory grounds at precisely sundown. A day when twilight was minutes long. Splashes of orange and red glistened in the cobalt sky before they darkened into a solid blanket. There were pockets of stars scattered across it but not many, and they were not bright. Commander made a throughout inspection of the factory and then circled the ropeway. The lake was next.

* * *

Lucas was surprised to hear that the factory had been closed for an indefinite period. He disliked the factory and disagreed with its involvement with Tazmily but he occasionally visited some of the animals that lived in the neighboring areas. He’d discovered that there were friendly chimeras. After interacting with them, he’d grown rather fond of their company. His ability to read their minds had helped in establishing this fellowship.

Not all of the new animals were approachable, though. In fact, most of them scared him. Even if Lucas could understand their thoughts, there were violent chimeras that weren’t interested in having a conversation. Their thoughts were jargons of pain and anger, blind desire to vanquish some unspecific enemy, which became anyone that entered their territory. Lucas developed a headache just from being near them. Those were chimeras he avoided.

He was, for the most part, uninterested in the announcements that the army issued to the village. He would not stop to read them if he happened to walk by. The news of the factory had roused his interest, however. He easily found a copy of the information that was being distributed and read it.

“Entire area evacuated. Extremely dangerous animal sighted. There have been casualties.”

The entire message had been printed in red ink. But it had the opposite of the intended effect on Lucas: like any other villager, fear inhabited him, but his heart went to his friends that might be in danger (or worse, were already hurt).

The text, as always, was purposely vague. It was meant to ward off, not divulge details. Lucas was as fooled by it as the other people were, truly believing that some sort of monster was roaming the factory and slaughtering animals. But there was no proof that the fabled beast existed. And, in reality, it would remain just that: a theory.

* * *

Commander could smell blood from a kilometer away, regardless of whether it was aboveground or buried deep in the earth. It dug a hole with blasts from its cannon until the source of the stench appeared: dead chimeras. They were not leftovers from a feeding frenzy, however: they were entire corpses.

Several were buried together in a basin of dirt. Intact to the very last limb.

There were five more pits like it, making six in total. They were scattered between the factory, the lakes, and the forest. Commander did not count the bodies but the amount of animals stored in them would’ve equaled the ones lost in the previous weeks, plus one –one pit held a single cattlesnake.

Commander registered this discovery and continued on its patrol of the perimeters. There was no doubt someone was responsible for killing them. Chimeras did not bury other chimeras.

* * *

Lucas preferred traveling by foot but it wasn’t always risk free getting where he wanted without riding Tazmily’s railway system. The tunnels that linked the village to the factory housed some unfriendly creatures that didn’t need provoking to bite. Besides that, there was the concern that, while walking near the tracks, he might be hit by a train. They were frighteningly fast.

So Lucas relied on it sometimes. But the trains had been shut down and the only way to get there was on foot. He made sure Boney wasn’t following and set course for the factory. If he ran into anything dangerous he should be able to stop them with his little bit of psychic powers. Hopefully he wouldn’t encounter anything stronger than that. He hated using his powers in a real fight.

Lucas chose nightfall as his starting point because he was less likely to be seen going into the tunnels. People in Tazmily already spoke ill of the way he lived. His reputation would only suffer if they caught wind of where he was heading.

The cattle weren’t there when Lucas arrived. The pasture was empty and the factory silent. He walked right through the loading area without taking a look inside. When he stepped onto a second field of grass he spotted a ring of dirt near the ropeway. Something had excavated a hole in the ground. Lucas walked up to it and peered down. A sea of dead animals greeted him.

Shuddering like a robot that had just been rebooted, Commander sprang to life immediately after detecting movement in the area. Its long, strapped boots pounded on the earth while the silver cannon attached to its arm began to emanate heat. It brewed an electric vortex, ready to be launched. The red half of its vision was set to pinpoint the most vulnerable parts of its target once it saw them.

Sitting on the station was a child with his face in his hand.

* * *

The boy named Lucas is loitering in the forest.

Eight legs scuttled across the ground, each moving in a different direction, too fast for Lucas to follow. His vision was starting to deteriorate into chunks of blaring color

“They told me to do it.”

when a scream rose into the air. He’d expected the animal to attack him but it had veered to the right, heading for the creature

“They didn’t want to live.”

that had followed Lucas into the deeper part of the forest. The cattlesnake’s body thrashed as the horsantula buried its teeth into its back. The anguished cry was fractured into a chorus,

“Not after what they’d become.”

bellows of pain that carried a single message: death.

Lucas tried to help but the horsantula’s poison would kill its victim regardless of what was done for it. For the first time in years, rage pounded in his head,

“They were screaming to be killed.”

aimed at the chimera that had injured his friend, an emotion that he rarely handled well. Feelings became power, an energy that few can channel, but he could do it in a remarkable way.

“They begged.”

Pink and cyan, like seashells glimmering through the surface of a river, flowed from his hand into the space between him and the two wrestling animals. The colors hardened into thick tendrils, bent in several spots to form sharp-edged figures. The symbols

“Different creatures.”

were meaningless to Lucas but the strength they unleashed culminated in the death of the horsantula. Its body was shocked by the impact and then immediately fell, limp. The cattlesnake heaved beside it.

The boy named Lucas is bullying animals.

Lucas, horrified, backed away from what had just transpired. He turned to run, but was held back by the ache in his heart.

“That shouldn’t have been forced together.”

The boy crouched in the bed of grass, extending his hands to the friend that would not make the journey home. The animal’s vision had clouded from the pain it was experiencing but its gaze was a stream of

“It’s the army’s fault.”

sorrow. Lucas lowered his head to its face and held it, listening to it breathe, acknowledging its last, suffering moments. Friends don’t let other friends die alone.

“Just like the drago.”

The heartbeats subsided. He stood and stared at the two corpses. The horsantula hadn’t really asked to eat cattlesnake. That was just was how it survived. In fact, it hadn’t asked to exist at all.

“She killed my mother because of how the army changed her.”

Lucas decided to bury his friend and then leave. He was frightened of this new power that could kill so easily.

The boy named Lucas learned some bad magic.

But the emotions that had conjured it would be pushed again. A crunching sound reached his ears

“She lived for her child.”

while his back was turned. He looked and there was another one. It was eating his friend.

Huge, sharp teeth, white where they hadn’t been smeared with blood. The horse mouth ate out of the cattlesnake’s neck while the spider jaws bit pieces out of their shoulder. Gnashing, gnawing, groaning.

“But these creatures have nothing.”

Its head was bent over the body, but its eyes stared at Lucas, all ten of them.

Lucas opened his palm in its direction.

The sound of yourself crying.

A crowd had formed. The stench of blood was attracting them. Too many to count, too many to run from. They were closing in.

Nothing after nothing came bursting out.

One after another, they collapsed. Motionless. Lifeless. And their blood was on Lucas's hands.

Countless screams.

He noticed then, a different voice. It was hidden beneath the layers of hungry, demanding noise. It sounded like it was pleading.

“They couldn’t speak like people do, but their voices, they were saying, ‘Please, kill us, Lucas.’”

So Lucas put them to sleep.

Sheer, never-ending darkness.

“Forgive me.”

* * *

Commander had fired lightning at Lucas. Lucas’s body produced a shield of pure psychic energy that he didn’t know he was capable of. The lightning didn’t graze him.

“You want to die, too?"

Its cannon buzzed with stored electricity. Commander shot it twice but the shield materialized again, protecting him both times. Lucas wasn’t fighting back.

“Well, I can’t help you.”

Lucas recognized the patterns in the sky. They were a more complicated version of that strange power he feared. The same pink, the same cyan, the same frightening aura –but with a clearly defined murderous intent added. Commander yowled when it attacked. Just like the others. They all screamed the same.

Lucas tried to run but he tripped.

“‘It hurts’? ‘I’m confused’? ‘I feel so terribly, terribly sad’?”

“It’s like that for all of us. Sorry, I can’t take the guilt that comes with putting another one to sleep.”

Lucas was hit by Commander’s attack. Blood pumped out of his ears and nose. A searing spasm hammered into his muscles. He could not move. His breath was not coming. He sucked in air, swallowed, but his lungs would not take it. His heart was about to stop.

Commander stood over him with its cannon charged.

“‘I want to be where mother is’?”

“I don’t know who your mother is, but mine is dead.”

Survival instincts kicked it into motion that time. Armor wasn’t enough. He’d be killed without a spear.

Lucas’s eyes were shut so he didn’t even see the blanket of destructive power that perforated the air around him. It reached Commander first, a defeating blow that shut its systems off. A carcass of rotting flesh and metal collapsed on the ground.

Lucas stood. He was still bleeding but he could breathe again. He was dazed for several minutes, just thinking, “In, out. Repeat,” over and over again.

“This isn’t the permanent rest you want, but it’s the best I can give you.”

He started walking away but stopped. Somehow that monster’s sad voice was worse than its attempt at killing him. Lucas felt pity. No, it was genuine sympathy.

He started digging a new hole.


End file.
